


found myself an old solution

by makesometime



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle Couple, F/M, First Time, Post-Battle, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 17:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17854358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: Brasidas drops his spear and shield as she moves in closer, his hands seeking out her hips before she is even within arm's reach. She grins when he growls, their lips meeting in a muddle of teeth and tongues and haste, hunger and battle lust in every press of their fingertips.She wants to know him, completely, in a way that doesn't entirely make sense. The most undeniably grounding touch she's experienced since leaving Kephallonia, Brasidas is solid and anchoring in the wildness of their abandon. Thick with muscle and full of Spartan confidence, she knows he'll show her a good time as well as she knows the scars on the backs of her hands.





	found myself an old solution

**Author's Note:**

> *waves* Me again, the smut peddler.
> 
> This prompt came from [spaceangelpirate](https://spaceangelpirate.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. It's something I've been tempted to tackle for a while but I couldn't get my head around a way to deal with the Spartan babes without a healthy dose of The Feels™. But apparently they were ready to mess around with each other, because this came remarkably clear in the end.

“Brasidas of Sparta.”

_In an instant she is eleven years old again, eavesdropping on her parents talking as she is supposed to be getting ready for bed. Her father rubs her mother’s rounded stomach, talking through his day, his training, the next generation of Spartan soldiers. There is one he speaks of with great respect, a sharp, smart but compassionate young man._

_**Brasidas**. Kassandra likes the sound of him. One who has so thoroughly earned her father’s respect must be a good man._

She blinks, the memory assaulting her with such a ferocity that she completely misses what he says next. She feels a flush growing up her chest as he frowns at her momentary lapse in concentration. Embarrassing, to be struck so hard by recollection after fighting so smoothly alongside him.

“Apologies, Brasidas of Sparta.” She murmurs, glancing him over. Strong, skilled. Handsome. A strong fighter, with no hesitation in collaboration. “My father was right about you.”

It slips out without her really thinking about it. In truth, she has already told him her name, so the weight of her identity is a secret half-shared whether he realises it or not. She watches his face as he processes the information, sees the cogs turning even as he skillfully hides his emotional toil.

“Your father…” He frowns. “Kassandra… You are Nikolaos’ daughter?”

She likes the way he speaks. A mixture of reverence and anger, both pleased by her discovery and angered by the course of action that led her to this point. 

Holding out her arms, she smiles as if it is all some great drama, as if he is a welcome new player upon the stage of her life’s tragedy. “The very same.”

Brasidas’ ( _handsome_ ) brow is furrowed, his hand to his lips as he considers the situation he finds himself in. A spy, a capable soldier, struck dumb by the reality of the life she’s living. It makes her feel a little better about not having a handle on it herself.

“It is an honour to meet you, Kassandra. And to fight alongside you.”

Ah, now this she can handle. She can twist and turn his words back into a game, lighten the mood and distract from her storied past. “You fight well, Spartan. Except for the moment I feared myself betrayed.”

He laughs, and it chases down her spine, leaves her pressing her thighs together. Battle always riles her, as it does any seasoned fighter. Left amongst corpses with a striking compatriot has been her idea of foreplay for years.

“If you had been watching your flank, there would have been no cause to think that.”

“Ah, but I was entirely too busy watching yours.”

His eyes flash with some indiscernible emotion. He shifts his weight, from one foot to the other, and she’s entirely too shameless not to look down, spotting the uneven way his _pteruges_ sit against his bright red Spartan _chiton_.

He clears his throat before speaking again, quieter, as if a heartbeat away from forcing the words down before they form on his tongue. 

“Perhaps you would like a closer look?”

There’s a flush on his cheeks that suggests this isn’t the usual way he makes new friends and honestly, she’s smarter than this most of the time. But the blood still pumps hard and fast in her veins, adrenaline yet to burn away. 

“I've had worse offers today.” She teases, enjoying how his expression twists, as if she has mortally offended him. 

Brasidas drops his spear and shield as she moves in closer, his hands seeking out her hips before she is even within arm's reach. She grins when he growls, their lips meeting in a muddle of teeth and tongues and haste, hunger and battle lust in every press of their fingertips. 

She wants to know him, completely, in a way that doesn't entirely make sense. The most undeniably grounding touch she's experienced since leaving Kephallonia, Brasidas is solid and anchoring in the wildness of their abandon. Thick with muscle and full of Spartan confidence, she knows he'll show her a good time as well as she knows the scars on the backs of her hands.

They’re still relatively exposed here, so he tugs her back behind one of the stacks of bricks, where shadow shrouds them and the heat of the fire burning itself out in the warehouse is just about able to lick at their skin.

Kassandra hums out a greedy purr when he slides one generously muscled thigh between her legs, grateful for her choice of armor that morning. The action leaves his cock jutting against her hip, clothing riding up but not enough to expose them. She grinds down, gasping into their kiss. His implicit encouragement leaves her riding the width of his thigh with deep, searching rolls of her hips. 

She hears him chuckle at her eager act, his lips painting hungry marks down her jaw, her throat. A grumble escapes, her hands parting his _pteruges_ to press her palms to his ass. It stills him, his teeth bared and wanting. A moment's pause. They could stop. 

Kassandra swallows down a laugh. They _could_ stop. But she doesn't want to. 

In the brief moments of their embrace so far her hair has caught sharp and uncomfortable on the rough edges of the bricks, her shoulders scratched by uneven edges. If they were to continue this way, she would be ruined. Not an unappealing thought, however… 

“Hold, soldier.”

Brasidas instantly steps back. A simple part of her melts at the respect that shows but the majority just hungers, renewed and fierce, for the feel of him against her once more. 

Tugging her braid back over her shoulder, Kassandra turns to face the bricks, tilting her hips back invitingly. The surface is rough now against the skin not covered by her bracers but she can deal with that if it draws another pleased huff of a laugh from the man behind her.

His fingers trail up the backs of her thighs, under the leather and linen of her armor. She sighs, fidgeting and fighting the urge to look back, as Brasidas hooks his fingers in the sides of her smallclothes and drags them down her legs. She steps out and a moment later he is kicking her feet further apart, grounding her like any good Spartan instructor. 

She expects him to be quick, not to draw this out. She is ready, at a pinch, if he is considerate and patient. 

Instead, he leans himself up against her back and dips his fingers between her legs. She stifles a groan when he grunts at the abundance of her slick. His voice is thick with want as he moves his mouth to her ear.

“Normally…” He circles her entrance with one strong finger, twisting his hand to press his thumb to her clit. “I don’t assume--.”

Kassandra blows out a breath between pursed lips, not quite a laugh. It’s a struggle not to move her hips, not to make this too easy for him. “Please. _Assume_.”

She hears him rustling with his armor and sets herself more firmly against the bricks, anticipation making her heart race. The first press of his cock to her is heated and welcome, his girth everything she anticipated and more. Yet his tools are only half of it, his skill with them…

Her moan is long and (annoyingly) grateful as he slides forward, stretching and filling her. He waits, waits until she clenches her acceptance around him and then with one sharp exhale he begins to move.

She scratches at the bricks, chunks crumbling to the ground and getting caught as dust under her fingernails. It is barely an afterthought in the steady, deep roll of Brasidas’ hips against her ass, the way he fills her again and again and--.

“ _Fuck_.” She groans, at the same time as his lips find the side of her throat. His chuckles paint her skin with hot breath, his fingers flexing at her hips and spreading across the base of her stomach.

She is so godsdamn used to leading her sexual encounters. She wonders if he can tell, in the way she tries to set their rhythm, the way she struggles to allow him to guide her into something deeper. He moves one hand down, gathering up her _chiton_ and slipping down to toy at her clit, fingers sure and strong.

“ _Cheat_ …”

“Ah, Kassandra it is not a competition.”

His voice is remarkably steady, considering the jerky, increasingly uneven motion of his hips. The sounds of their bodies moving together are lewd and slick, backed by the crackling of burning wood and cries of vendors not too far off. Kassandra ducks her head, looking down between their bodies, at the strong line of his arm disappearing under her armor.

She near bites through her lip to keep herself quiet as she shudders an orgasm around him, clenching and drawing him closer to his release. She feels him jerk hard within her and then he goes still, lips attached to the back of her shoulder as his hips give sharp little thrusts until he is spent.

There is no time for lingering. Efficient and practiced, Brasidas steps back and watches mutely as she fetches up her smallclothes, shaking off the dirt and sliding them back into place to catch the worst of the mess he’s made of her. She can bathe later, once they are safely away from this place.

“You fuck as you fight, _misthios_.”

Kassandra beams at him, giddy with the pleasure that still fills her body fit to bursting. “With great skill?” 

Brasidas reaches out, tender and amused, to straighten the fit of her belt. “Fierce. Hungry. Like a Spartan.”

A compliment indeed, coming from him. Gods, but she wants to know more of him. To learn what drove him to intervene and assist her in fighting off the Monger’s men in the first place. What brought their paths into alignment in more ways than one.

“Tell me Brasidas of Sparta. What brought you to Korinth?”

He looks disappointed, for all of a moment, before moving past her to fetch up his spear and shield. “That is a tale for another time, and another place. I fear I must ask you a favour.”

Kassandra smiles, holding out her hands in invitation. A favour implies continued interaction. A chance, perhaps, for a repeat encounter with more time to play. 

“Ah, but of course. It is only fair.”


End file.
